


Wake-Up Call

by gravehound



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake AH Crew, Gunplay, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Intersex Character, M/M, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character, as a result of the gunplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:25:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13978989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravehound/pseuds/gravehound
Summary: Sometimes the lingering thrill of being the Vagabond is mostly good for prompting kinky sex.





	Wake-Up Call

**Author's Note:**

> brief disclaimer in that i'm not intersex & my knowledge of being intersex is fairly limited so please hmu if any of this could be written better in that regard.
> 
> no editing, we die like men.

Michael wakes up staring down the barrel of a gun, a heavy weight on his hips keeping him pressed to the bed. For a moment, blood turns to ice in his veins and it feels like the world shudders to a halt as fear courses through him. Then he realizes he recognizes that barrel and the calloused fingers curled around the grip, one steady on the trigger, the hips pressing against his own intimately familiar.

“Ryan,” he says, because of course it is, and the pistol presses forward until his eyes go out of focus trying to follow it, the cool metal brushing against the skin of his forehead. The smell of gun oil and faint tang of gunpowder beneath fills his nostrils as he manages to refocus his gaze on the figure behind the weapon.

It’s less Ryan and more Vagabond. He’s still wearing the paint, though it looks like it’s long begun streaking and running together from sweat, as it often does by the end of a long mission. He’s fully clothed compared to Michael’s nothing but boxers, the blue and black jacket zipped all the way up. His ponytail has come loose just enough for strands of black to frame the sides of his face, and there’s a cold glint in his mismatched eyes, just enough light from the moon and sleepless city shining through the window for Michael to see the distinct blue and green in the darkness.

His mask is gone, probably discarded somewhere near the penthouse door on his way in.

There’s a long pause in which the room is silent except for Michael’s heavy breathing and the softer, even breaths of the Vagabond. Then a slight smile tugs at the lips hidden beneath white and black paint, and the tension in Michael’s muscles uncoils a little. “How’d shit go?” he asks, tone as casual as he can manage, as if they aren’t pressed close together with a gun between them.

Ryan seems to consider for a few seconds, tilting his head back slightly and shifting his gaze to the ceiling. “Good,” he says finally, not a hint of stress in his voice. Bordering on amusement, if anything. He’d been gone for a week, steady on the trail of the former boss of what had once been a rival gang. The fact he was home meant the man was in a shallow grave somewhere.

Michael shifts his weight a little, and his breath catches in his throat as the thin fabric of his boxers does little to prevent him from feeling it when his dick rubs up against Ryan’s jeans. A slow grin spreads across Ryan’s face when he looks back down, far more Ryan than Vagabond and looking out of place beneath the paint. Briefly, Michael lets his guard down, and then he swallows hard when the gun is trailed pointedly down his face and the side of his nose to press against his lips. The intention behind the movement is more than clear.

He parts his lips and stretches his jaw, the gun pressing forward into his mouth, Ryan’s finger never wavering from the trigger. The blocky, rectangular shape of the barrel isn’t the most comfortable fit, Michael’s teeth scraping awkwardly against it and his jaw aching a little at the stretch, and the metallic taste is almost overwhelming. He takes a moment — is _allowed_ a moment — to get used to the weapon in his mouth before its pressed harder forward, more insistent, and he sets eagerly to sucking at it as much as possible, tongue playing across the surface.

Even if he wanted to, Michael couldn’t tilt his head back; it’s already pressed firmly into the pillow, and there’s nowhere else to go. Ryan takes control of the movements as he realizes as much, easing the barrel out until its nearly free before pressing it firmly back into his mouth. A slow, even pace starts up as Michael’s eyes drift closed, a soft, muffled moan escaping after a pause.

Just when he’s settled comfortably into the rhythm, the gun abruptly presses harder forward into his mouth, making him gag, and they both go still for a few seconds as he adjusts. Drawing in a slow breath through his nose before letting it out again, Michael sucks a bit harder at the barrel, pressing his tongue as far down along the bottom as he can reach. He briefly opens his eyes to flick a glance up at Ryan, who’s watching him intently, before closing them again. His cock is aching desperately for some kind of touch aside from the light pressure of Ryan’s hips.

Eventually, Ryan seems to decide he’s had enough waiting, because he pulls the gun from Michael’s mouth, briefly trailing the wet muzzle down his chin and leaning back. Taking his finger off the trigger for just a few seconds, Ryan wipes the saliva off the barrel, before lifting it to point steadily at Michael once more. “Pants,” is all he says, but Michael is quick to comply, finally lifting his hands from the bed to undo the button and zipper of Ryan’s jeans. He slips his fingers beneath the waistband, and Ryan moves just enough at a time for them to be gradually tugged down and off, thrown onto the floor. His underwear follow an insant later, revealing his cock already hard and slick with precum, dripping from the slit just beneath the head.

For a minute, Michael is unsure of what comes next, until Ryan shifts forward, his movements a little awkward until he adjusts to settle comfortably with the tip of his cock just brushing against Michael’s lips. Adjusting his grip on the gun a little, he angles it to press lightly against Michael’s temple, and the fingers of Ryan’s free hand slide into his curls to settle in a firm grip, pulling his head up. His mouth opens obediently and Ryan presses forward, head of his cock resting heavily on Michael’s tongue.

After his lips have closed around Ryan to suck gently at the head of his cock, Ryan rolls his hips firmly forward before adjusting his grip on Michael’s hair to start moving his head in slow, smooth thrusts, working his cock deeper into Michael’s mouth with each one. Michael can’t help but think, as he closes his eyes and forces his jaw to relax, that Ryan is being exceptionally gentle considering the gun still gripped firmly in his hand, the barrel trailing down to press into the base of Michael’s neck now instead of against his head.

He’s not entirely surprised when that changes abruptly, Ryan’s thrusts getting decidedly harder, pressing far enough back into Michael’s mouth to make him gag a little with each forward motion, tears springing to his eyes. Goddamn his gag reflex, but at least he isn’t nearly as bad as Gavin. His hands move up to settle on Ryan’s thighs, fingers digging firmly into skin, and he knows there’ll be little half-moon marks left where his nails rest.

It isn’t long before Ryan’s breathing has grown noticeably harsher, his grip on the gun wavering a little to press the muzzle into Michael’s shoulder, and Michael eagerly sucks harder at him in encouragement, tongue rubbing along the underside of his cock. When he comes it’s with a groan that seems loud in the near-silent room, hips jerking erratically as Michael’s tongue laps at his slit, swallowing everything he has to give. Finally he pulls away, fingers loosening in Michael’s hair before letting go entirely, letting his head drop back down onto the pillow.

“Good boy,” Ryan sighs, the gun moving back up to gently caress the side of Michael’s face, and a shiver goes through him, his eyes staying closed. Realistically, he knows he can’t die — not for good, anyway, not in any way they know of — but he still feels that jolt of fear when a gun’s pressed against his head. Some of the others don’t; Geoff claims he’s just lived long enough to no longer give a shit, and Ryan certainly doesn’t react with any concern to dangerous missions, though Michael suspects that’s for an entirely different reason. Michael still feels it, though, and anticipates he will for a while yet.

Finally looking up when Ryan shifts to move away, he watches as Ryan settles onto the bed beside him, hands dropping down to it. The gun slips to the back of his neck and nudges upward, and Michael scrambles to sit up, shifting out of the way and turning around as Ryan settles down comfortably on his back in Michael’s place. He gestures toward the drawer of the nightstand with the gun’s barrel, and Michael is quick to take the hint, leaning to tug it open and pull out the bottle of lube.

Settling back down between Ryan’s legs, he’s fully conscious of the pistol trained on him, the hand holding it resting lightly against Ryan’s stomach. He hesitates before leaning forward a little, reaching for the zipper of the leather jacket, only to have his wrist grabbed and shoved away. Huffing softly and ignoring the faint blush rising to his face, Michael sits back again, turning his attention downward. Biting back a smile as Ryan shifts his hips and spreads his legs further apart, Michael opens the lube bottle to coat the fingers of one hand, pretending not to notice when it drips onto the bed. The sheets could always be washed in the morning.

One finger brushes lightly against Ryan’s hole, making him twitch from the cold of the lube, and a quiet moan is drawn from him when it presses forward into him. It makes it increasingly difficult for Michael to ignore the dull throb of his own cock demanding attention. Still, he manages to make himself focus, gradually working Ryan open as he adds first a second finger and then a third, spreading him as wide as comfortably possible. Michael brushes his thumb up across the outside of Ryan’s folds, the tip dipping briefly into him and making him gasp. He was rarely comfortable with much penetration there, but what little he was willing to take, Michael was overly eager to give.

The cold look in Ryan’s gaze, the lingering effects of the Vagabond, is thoroughly gone when Michael looks back up to him from beneath his lashes. His expression is distinctly softer now, the paint looking all kinds of wrong, even while his hand still has a steady grip on the pistol, barely trembling even while his thighs twitch and shake. “Okay,” he says finally, meeting Michael’s gaze, normally deep and steady voice considerably breathier. Biting down on his bottom lip to contain a smile, Michael slides his fingers out of Ryan, pulling a sigh from him with the motion.

He shimmies quickly out of his boxers, fingers of his lubed up hand curling around the base of his cock to carefully adjust the angle upward and get it slick. Ryan watches through heavily lidded eyes, lips parted, and Michael blushes considerably brighter when their gazes catch again, freckles standing out clearly against the deep red spreading over his face.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Michael shifts further forward as Ryan’s legs pull up and tilt apart to expose himself. For just a moment Michael’s hands hover awkwardly before he settles them on Ryan’s hips, fingers digging in lightly and making Ryan hum appreciatively. Even as the head of Michael’s cock presses up against Ryan’s entrance, he’s fully conscious of the gun aimed at his chest and the finger on its trigger.

They both moan softly when he rolls his hips firmly forward, pausing with just the head fully inside of Ryan. After a brief hesitation to catch his breath again, Michael eases further in, teeth catching on his lip as he lets his eyes close.

Michael is not, by any stretch of the imagination, an especially gentle fuck. It would be a reach to call him gentle in anything. He’s quick to pick up a hard, firm pace, and Ryan finally gets loud like he knew he eventually would, groans and heavy breaths filling the room. Fingers dig into his hips hard enough to leave bruises that will last for days.

It isn’t long before Michael is getting desperate and frantic, his head tilted down and his pace growing increasingly erratic. One of his hands leaves Ryan’s hip, fingers curling around his cock instead, jerks quick and hard in time with his own thrusts. The warmth of Michael’s fingers and slide of his cock inside Ryan push him quickly to the same point of closeness.

They’ve been together enough times like this for Michael to know the routine, and he manages to hold off until Ryan comes, even though Ryan can see the tension in his muscles long before that. Ryan’s orgasm hits him hard, hips jerking upward into Michael’s fist, coming over both his fingers and the leather of his jacket. He manages a sharp, jerky nod, eyes closed tightly, and it’s answered quickly by Michael’s whine of his name and a few more uneven thrusts of his cock before he slows to a stop.

They pull apart reluctantly, Michael rolling over to sprawl on his back, eyes closed as he struggles to get his breath back. He doesn’t look when Ryan’s weight disappears from the bed, and when it returns the gun is away and Ryan is finally fully naked, a slightly damp washcloth cleaning the come from Michael’s fingers. Another minute passes before Ryan settles comfortably into bed and tugs the sheet up over them both.

Humming quietly, Michael rolls into his boyfriend’s arms, snuggling close and pressing his face into the hollow of Ryan’s throat to inhale deeply. “So,” he says after a pause, feeling compelled to whisper in the dark room, “was the safety on?” He gets a soft laugh and nothing else in response, the hand that was holding a gun on him minutes ago gently stroking through his curls, and he can’t help but smile as he closes his eyes.


End file.
